


Memory Palace

by Rothelena



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothelena/pseuds/Rothelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written before I watched ep. 4.10 "Fugue in Red", based on what I saw in spoilers! Jane, reversed to his con-man-personality by amnesia, seduces agent Lisbon- and opens Pandora's box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Teresa Lisbon felt like a stern governess and didn’t like herself very much at the moment.  
The pint of beer in front of her was untouched.  
She startled every time he laughed. She’d never heard him laugh that way before. Rich. Full. Bursting.  
It wasn’t him. Her Jane was hidden underneath all this…shallow charm, the seducer’s facade he showed the world right now.  
He flirted shamelessly, had kissed countless cheeks over the run of the night, and she couldn’t help the slight pang of jealousy that pierced her frame whenever he put his hand where it had no business going. She sighed. You’re a big girl, Teresa Lisbon, just suck it up.  
Maybe he deserved to have fun for a change. She knew it would be devastating when his memory came back, and it would come back eventually. She would watch over him until then, do everything to protect him. Just like she always did.  
She watched him. The irresponsible, mischievous little rascal. She’d thought he‘d been a pest when she’d met him, damaged, traumatized, but still full of impish antics and reckless schemes. It was nothing compared to what he was like at the moment. Damn, she hoped he got his memory back soon, as selfish as that might sound. It was almost impossible to keep him under control like this.  
Lisbon took a swig of lukewarm beer, her eyes following him wherever he went. No matter how much he deserved to have some fun and lightness in his life, she had to stop him from going too far. For he would remember what he did right now, while he was in the middle of his amnesia…and she had to prevent him from getting abhorred or ashamed when his memory restored itself. His memory of what he’d become. Of the gruesome murder that had changed everything. Yes, he had enough to carry as it was. She would do everything not to add to the burden.  
Jane looked her way and smiled. They had told him that he had helped the CBI solving murders, and he had agreed to do so in this case- saying it “would be fun”. Hell yeah, everything was about fun for him at the moment.  
He laughed again, his arm wrapped around a young woman’s waist, and Lisbon gritted her teeth. Big girl, Teresa. No problem. You just keep him safe. Piece of cake.  
She hung on past midnight, when Van Pelt had long been gone, leaving her alone to watch over Jane. He looked at her occasionally. And thankfully, he didn’t seem to plan picking up one of the countless girls he touched. They came and went, sitting on his lap for a moment before they trotted off again…maybe her death glare had something to do with it- who knew.  
And finally the pub was almost empty, and Jane got up, moving his lean body lithely and gracefully, strolling over to her with a lazy smile on his face. She felt the soft spread of heat deep inside her and stifled a shudder he would have been able to hear in her breath. To no avail, she noticed when his smile deepened.  
“You’re done babysitting, agent Lisbon,” he drawled, “I’m out of here. You hardly touched your beer- care to drive me to the hotel?”  
“Of course.” She said briskly, put some money on her table and took her purse, following him into the parking lot.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was unnerving, the way he stared at her. She kept her face on the road, but she could feel his eyes on her, this soft, nonchalant smile on his lips. She didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or…she took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.  
But she startled violently when he suddenly lifted his hand and wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingers.  
“I’ve been wondering, agent,” he said “when I’ve been working on your team- you and me, did we ever have sex with each other?”  
Thankfully, she’d just reached the hotel’s parking lot and already killed the engine, or she would have steered the car against the next tree for sure.  
“Of course not” she breathed “we’ve just been….colleagues.” You’re my friend. The only human being I need in my life. The one temptation I don’t even want to remove. The reason I dream about the future sometimes.  
She got out of the car before he could say anything more, her hair slipping from his grasp.  
“I see you to your room, Jane,” she muttered when she heard his door slam shut, his footsteps resounding from the pavement.  
Yeah, agent Lisbon. How smart was that?  
Unfortunately, this thought didn’t really enter her mind before the doors of the lift whooshed shut behind them, trapping her inside with charming, sexy, tempting Patrick Jane much too close by her side.  
Damnation.  
He continued to play with her hair. Came close. Closer. So close his lips grazed her ear when he spoke.  
“I want to, you know?” he whispered, softly kissing her neck “Have sex with you, that is.”  
Remember, Lisbon? You wanted to stop him from doing something stupid. Something like…  
His lips were warm and soft, and she realized that he’d never kissed her- not even a friendly peck on the cheek. She turned her head without thinking, and his mouth met hers without hesitation. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to fool around, the kiss hot and passionate, firm lips moving against hers, and when she was about to pull back he pushed his tongue into her mouth, and Lisbon was lost, all thoughts draining from her mind in a violent gush.  
She hardly heard the door open, Jane walking her backwards to his room, hot lips fastened on hers, his breath intruding, filling her up, making her drunk, wild. He inserted the key card into the slot, his arm wrapped around her waist, trapping her against him while he breathed into her, not giving her the chance to escape.  
When her back hit the mattress, she had no idea how in hell she had gotten there.  
She tried to push him away, but her hands against his chest started to rip his shirt open all on their own, and he assisted her with his vest before he started to undress her, the night quickly dissolving into a flurry of movement, clothes flying everywhere, until she was naked beneath him, his lips like a hot lifeline in the dark of the night. And when she felt his giant erection against her abdomen, she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t turn back.  
The night was spent in a haze, his laughter close to her ear, his smile boisterous and care-free, he was like a stranger, but his passion swept her away, leaving no room for questions, doubts. His skin was warm and smooth beneath her hands and he reacted strongly to every touch, moaning in bliss and ecstasy wherever her hands slid. Begging for more. His body thirsty, ravenous, he sucked on her nipples like a starving man, groaning and sighing when her fingernails left red streaks on his upper back.  
He was huge and hard, his erection so demanding she felt burned every time it touched her. The intimacy stole her breath, every touch brought him closer, his lips busy against her skin, damp with perspiration, his tongue adding more moisture.  
She was so aroused she hadn’t even known she could feel like this. Hot lust pooling between her legs, running down her thighs. Her hips undulating against his body, she couldn’t hear anything but the rush of her own blood and his soft humming, vibrating on her skin while he licked and tasted and nipped. She moaned, so close now. Feeling drugged from his mouth and his hands, unable to surface.  
Patrick Jane tasted clean and warm, sweet like dark caramel, his skin baby-soft beneath her lips. He allowed her to touch everywhere, and damn if she didn’t take her chance. Maybe she would never again…  
He pushed into her and everything that was coherent left her body, he was so huge and hard and hot, filling her completely, her breaths gasping gulps of air that seared her lungs, his groans deep and ecstatic, reaching into her body like fingers, touching everywhere.  
He pushed his hands under her buttocks and angled her hips, going even deeper with the next thrust.  
Lisbon cried into his mouth, and he chuckled softly. She was lost, mind dissolving more and more, the rhythm of his movements a sharp throbbing that grabbed her utmost depths, reached into her soul.  
He thrust harder, faster, her fingers dug into his back, her body quaking under the impact of his vigorous, hammering strokes, and when his cries got louder and louder she came undone, her climax washing through her like a thunderstorm. Her strong muscles clutched his length and she managed to look into his face then, his head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, a wild smile on his lips that didn’t dissolve until he went over the edge full force, his seed shooting into her in hot, endless spurts, gushing against her constricting walls until her tears started to run over her face. He collapsed on top of her before he rolled to his side, his breathing harsh and erratic, giddy, unrestrained laughter bubbling up from his throat.  
“Damn,” he groaned “and I didn’t do that before? No idea why…I usually recognize a good lay when I see one.”  
His lips met the corner of her mouth before he curled into a ball next to her and fell asleep with a happy, exhausted sigh, his quiet breathing almost loud in the silent darkness.  
Lisbon closed her eyes. Oh my god, what had she done? His last words had finally managed to wake her from the haze she’d spent the last hour in. She felt as if she’d been doused with ice water. He wasn’t her Patrick Jane. He was what the amnesia had left of him. And she had ruthlessly taken advantage, plastering their future with emotional landmines that would most likely kill everything that came close.  
She’d played with the one thing that held the most meaning for her these days- the friendship of the only man she’d ever truly loved. The realization felt like a cramp deep inside her guts, like the harsh grip of an ice-cold fist.  
When his memory came back, he would remember. And he would hate her for this.  
She slowly got up, taking care not to wake him, and dressed in a hurry. When she softly closed the door behind her, the carefully contained sobs finally tore free and she realized that her face was already streaked with tears.


	2. Chapter 2

At noon she realized how futile her miserable attempts at work truly were.  
Her eyes wandered to his couch. He hadn’t come in today, and she wasn’t surprised. What was he thinking about her? Maybe not much.   
Maybe he was glad she had disappeared, a delicious little fling he could easily cast aside. Maybe he already searched for the next one. A sharp ache thrummed through her body, and she coughed to stop more tears from falling. All this crying led to nothing. She had fucked up big time, and would bear the consequences.  
She tried to call his cell again- he’d shut it off. Was he in the arms of another woman? She swallowed drily. Damn, what a mess. When she closed her eyes, she could still taste him, could remember the sweetness of his warm lips, the way he’d moaned into her mouth. She shuddered. And hoped the earth would open up and swallow her whole.  
She’d put her face in her hands when her phone rang.  
“Lisbon.” She said. Her voice sharp. Controlled. Business as usual when she felt so hollow inside she could house a whole city.  
“Agent Lisbon? Dr. Bergstrom here. Mr. Jane was admitted to our emergency room this morning with a violent headache- I think his memory is coming back.”

xxxxxxxxxx

She raced into the hospital, the nurse calling ward and room number after her.  
Her legs would hardly carry her onwards. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten since last noon. She felt so nauseous she might throw up.  
She found his room without a single conscious thought, pushing the door open with shaking fingers.  
Three doctors were with him, debating in front of the window, their backs to the door.  
Jane sat on the edge of the bed, his legs on the floor. He wore a hospital gown, his feet were naked, blond curls tousled and wayward. His face was so pale, his eyes miserable and confused. Full of questions nobody could answer.  
He looked at her- and she saw the memory coming back.  
Saw his face crumbling, his eyes glassing over, watching a scene that had happened so long ago. A bloody face. Toenails painted in blood. His life destroyed all over again. His future taken from him. Tears formed in his eyes, running down his face in hot rivulets. He hardly moved. His breath nothing but soft gasps of sheer pain.  
Lisbon felt helpless, aching all over, her guts cramping with the power of her feelings for him. She desperately wanted to hold him, but she knew full well he wouldn’t appreciate being touched right now.  
“I remember,” he whispered “Lisbon, I remember.”  
Her fingernails dug into her palms so hard she drew blood. Her eyes were glued to his face. His soft, lined, beloved face. Contorted in pain. She felt sweat break out on her skin.  
She had no idea what to say.  
She went over to him and extended her hand, but he flinched immediately, shying away from her touch, and she nodded helplessly.  
When Dr. Bergstrom shook her hand and asked her to follow him into his office for some private words, she accepted the escape gratefully.  
Feeling like the miserable coward she undoubtedly was.

xxxxxxxxxx

“His memory will restore itself completely over the next days, agent Lisbon,” Dr. Bergstrom said, folding his hands on his desk “You and your team did well- he had time to heal, nothing upset him too much during his recovery- he should be okay in no time.”  
Lisbon winced. Okay. He would never be okay again.  
Her fingers slid over the cool wood in front of her, as if they just needed to touch something. Every breath hurt.  
“Will he remember what happened during his amnesia?” she asked quietly.   
She felt her mouth go dry. Felt the soft leathery surface of the chair she was sitting on. Holding her breath for his answer.  
“No, he most likely won’t.” Dr. Bergstrom said “He might remember snippets, small parts, some sensory impressions like a smell or a taste, but he won’t be able to connect them to any actual incidents. I guess he started to regain his memory when he woke up with the headache this morning. I can’t tell you if he’d want to learn about the time he blacked out…patients are different in that regard. In your place, I would wait for him to ask. If he doesn’t, it’s maybe best for him not to know.”  
Lisbon felt dizzy all of a sudden. He wouldn’t remember?  
She licked over her lips, his taste still embedded in her senses. He wouldn’t remember. She tried to contain the sharp pain that squeezed at her heart. He would just forget. Would never know what it had felt like…  
The touching he’d allowed. Gone.  
She took a shaky breath and braced herself. It was so much better this way. They could just…be the way they’d been again. No awkwardness. No need to “Talk things out”. No embarrassment about what they’d done.  
If she could just contain her stupid feelings, just encase her heart in impenetrable steel, they would be fine.  
She looked down and saw that she still stroked the wood of Dr. Bergstrom’s desk, her fingers soft, gentle. Remembering how Jane had shivered under their touch.

xxxxxxxxxx

Jane said on his couch, stroking the well-worn leather absentmindedly. He still felt like a stranger, and he didn’t know why. His memory was back, and the renewed hurt about his family’s death had ebbed down to the dull, painful throbbing he was used to feeling all the time.  
His wallet was gone. And he had no idea where he had lost it. He’d gotten a new identification card from the CBI and already filed for a new driver’s license.  
But the missing wallet constantly reminded him that there were whole days missing in his landscape, and he hated it. Felt small and vulnerable.  
He watched Lisbon approaching Van Pelt’s desk, giving the younger redhead some kind of task.   
She smiled at him, and he could see the black shadows under her stark green eyes. No sleep for his team-leader, huh? Again. He wondered if he might be the reason for that. How much of a wild child had he been during his…mental absence?  
She kept his distance. She had never touched him much, respecting his stern rules when it came to closeness. There weren’t that many people he wanted close.  
But it was different with Lisbon. More and more so.  
Lisbon. Yes, something inside him desperately longed to be close to her. He’d reached an almost childish level of touchy-feely neediness, and it irked him big time.  
He liked knowing where she was all the time. She was like his anchor in a wild sea, she’d always been. He knew that she had protected him during the amnesia. And he knew she would tell him the truth- and if she didn’t because of her undying wish to keep him safe, he could always read it on her face. Every time she passed him by, he felt the urge to ask. Ask about what he had done, how he had been. But he knew full well he wouldn’t do it.  
Rigsby had hinted at some of the things he’d done. And that had been enough. He was disgusted with himself for the obvious loss of control he’d shown. Patrick Jane didn’t live in a happy, fun-loving world any longer. He lived in a world where carelessness could get you killed. Where his control was everything- everything that could save him and the people who dared to come close to him.  
What if he’d mocked Red John again while his memory was gone? A grinning, ignorant fool, bringing death to his doorstep. What if it had been Lisbon who’d been killed next, just because he’d had no idea what the hell he was doing? He shuddered. Yeah. He knew Red John would go for Lisbon next if he ever made a mistake. The person closest to him.   
Reason enough not to ask. He would just take care it wouldn’t happen again. Watch every step he made just to ensure Lisbon and the team won’t be in danger.  
But yes- it scared him not to know. Scared him even though he understood he wouldn’t like the guy he’d been during the amnesia. No, he didn’t want to meet him. Better to bury him in silence and just go on.

xxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon had always been proud of her toughness. The tight restraint she had on her feelings. Nothing took her down. She fought through bitterness and heart-ache, didn’t die from jealousy or fear.  
Until she realized that she’d never truly been in love before.  
Now she felt weak. Needy. Full of a longing that drove her insane. And she hated every second of it.  
If she could touch him one more time, she would be fine. Just once more. Maybe when he was asleep. She shook her head to clear her mind.   
What was she thinking? Didn’t she understand that this was exactly the behavior that would endanger their hard-won status quo?   
He mustn’t know. He mustn’t EVER know what had happened.  
When she closed her eyes, she returned to the heat of the night, to the feel of his skin, the taste of his lips, until she felt suffocated by the strength of her feelings.   
Falling in love had happened so softly, so unobtrusively. And Teresa Lisbon, emotional illiterate if there ever was one, hadn’t even noticed before it was too late.   
If she hadn’t allowed herself to be seduced, she would have happily continued to bury her feelings forever. Bury it through the time when Jane would be ready to move on. When he found true love again, a good woman. Maybe he would be a father again one day. She’d always hoped he would have the chance to be happy again. Not with her. She was…bad news. Emotionally crippled.  
But now, his taste on her tongue, she didn’t want to share any longer just to spare him her own damaged personality. She wanted him for herself. And she knew full well how disgustingly selfish that was.  
She looked at him, sitting on his couch. Where he belonged. He looked still a little bit lost though, brooding. But she was sure it would change. He would get better and better.  
And never- never would he know what had happened in the one night she would never forget.

xxxxxxxxxx

Midnight found Patrick Jane still on his couch. He was trying to sleep and realized he couldn’t. Had he slept during the amnesia? Had he been happy? Free of all worries? Didn’t matter. He couldn’t remember the feeling. Happiness was an alien concept to him. Not gonna happen.  
He heard footsteps approaching from the lift. Unknown footsteps. He sat up.  
A small man turned around the corner, his brown hair in wild tufts on his head. His clothes were not cheap, but a little bit rumpled. Lipstick on his collar. Wild night on the town.  
“Can I help you?” Jane asked.  
“Uhm….yeah,” the guy answered with a smile “watchman sent me up- you Mr. Jane?”  
“Yes,” Jane said, and he was actually glad that he could say at least that “I am. What can I do for you?”  
“Well…I’m a porter at the hotel you spent the last couple of nights…” the young man said slowly.  
A hotel? Jane couldn’t remember anything. He hadn’t asked. Someone had packed his stuff and sent it to the hospital, obviously. He shrugged.  
“You…forgot your wallet in the room.” the porter went on, clearly a little bit ashamed now. Guilt. Jane could smell it.” Chambermaid gave it to me today- she…took your money, so I can’t tell you who she is. But she felt bad about your personal stuff, so…I wanted to give it back.”  
Jane took his wallet from the boy’s outstretched hand and smiled. This guy gave the wallet back to a law enforcement officer (he had no idea Jane was no such thing, after all) minus the money? That was a whole new level of stupidity.  
Jane’s smile deepened. He would let it pass. There hadn’t been that much money in the wallet after all.  
“Thank you” he said softly “nice to meet an honorable guy from time to time. Doesn’t happen often in my profession.”  
“Yeah,” the porter said “law enforcement, huh? Pretty cool.”  
Oh no, Jane thought. No small talk, please. He’d just thought of a way to get rid of the man when the guy spoke again.  
“What about your pretty girlfriend?” he asked “She calmed down again?”  
Jane’s smile froze on his face.  
“Girlfriend?” he breathed.  
The porter didn’t notice his distress, of course.  
“Yeah, the tiny brunette who left your room on Monday morning. Me and the chambermaid were…chatting down the hallway when she left. Was crying pretty hard. You two been fighting? She a prime piece, man- well worth to buy her some flowers. Jewelry even, huh?”  
Jane couldn’t say anything. Oh my god. He’d had a woman with him? At a hotel? She’d left crying? What had he done?  
Now the boy noticed his confusion.  
“Uh…well…I should be on my way” he drawled and moved to make a hasty exit “nice meeting you, Mr. Jane!”  
And while the guy stormed off, Jane realized he couldn’t let the days he’d been without memory in the dark any longer.  
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Lisbon almost smiled when Jane stormed into her office. Yes, it was good to have him back, and she welcomed the slow spread of warmth that wriggled its way into her woebegone heart.  
He looked good, and his presence gave her a sense of wholeness she hadn’t felt for some time now. And hope came with it.  
She would get through all this suffering. And he would still be there, HER Patrick Jane, mocking her, annoying her. Being the center of her life.  
“Lisbon” he said urgently “I need your help. I had a girl with me Monday night.”  
Lisbon felt her insides go icy. Her mind felt numb for a second, not really able to think. She swallowed several times.  
“A…a girl?”  
“Yes, at the hotel where I’ve obviously been staying” Jane said, pacing the room restlessly “dark-haired, petite…she left in the morning. Crying, Lisbon. Crying…very much. A porter saw her. I need to know what I did to her. Please, Lisbon- you know I do need to find out, don’t you?”  
He placed both hands on her desk, leaning over it, his face very close to hers.  
Lisbon had no idea what she should do now. Damn. That couldn’t be happening. She tried for damage control.  
“That’s nonsense, Jane” she said firmly “we had you under surveillance the whole time. There was no girl. You were flirting at the pub, but you took nobody home.”  
She felt his gaze. Slicing through her lie like a laser through butter.  
“You’ve seen her,” he stated calmly “Lisbon, I’m not fooling around here. I need to find her.”  
“There was no girl, damn you.”  
“You’re lying.” he pressed out between gritted teeth “What do you think, Lisbon? Jane had his fun, a little harmless one-night-stand and we never tell him? I made her cry, Lisbon. I made her cry. I’m not a monster, damn you. I need to find her.”  
Lisbon averted her gaze. Damn for the man being a walking lie detector. And she was a bad liar to begin with.  
Jane put his hand beneath her chin and made her face him. His touch felt like an electrical shock, jolting through her system like a sharp, stinging pain. She felt the heat grow. Her eyes getting haunted, feverish.  
“Don’t you understand, Lisbon” he said, his voice much softer now “I’m not like this. I might have been a cheat and a liar, but I…I’m not like this anymore. And- it’s important for me not to be like that. I don’t want to hurt anybody- I caused enough pain to last me several lifetimes. I can’t add this to my personal pile of debris…I need to find this woman and try to find out what I did. Okay, I have a strong hunch about what I did- but I have to know …how bad it was. It could be really bad, Lisbon. I remember nada. Even if I just said something really nasty...I want her to know that- that wasn’t me. Please, help me. Help me find her. You will help me, won’t you, Lisbon? You always help me. You’re my avenging angel. My shield and sword. Help me. Please. I thought I could live with not knowing. I can’t. Help me.”  
Lisbon looked at him and tried to bite back the tears.   
And damn- she knew he noticed.  
“Lisbon,” he whispered- low. Threatening. “tell me the truth. Now.”  
“It was me, okay? It was me, and I’m fine.” Oh no, why in hell had she just said that?  
“I can see that you’re not fine, Lisbon.” He said softly “and if it was you…damn, it was you.”  
He could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t lie to him. He read the truth without any difficulties. Like he always did.  
“Why have you been crying?” he breathed “What have I done to you?”  
She could see the anguish in his eyes. She had known how deeply she had fucked up the moment she’d left the hotel. Had known that she couldn’t stop the disaster that was certain to follow. And maybe this was what she deserved for indulging her cravings. For giving in to a longing she had hidden so deep inside her she had almost forgotten all about it. Almost. But not quite.  
“I haven’t been crying” she stalled, futilely, but she had to try “the porter was wrong.”  
He straightened and looked at her with a mixture of incredulity and disappointment on his face. His beautiful, expressive face.  
“How long do we know each other, Lisbon?” he growled “Don’t you dare to lie to me- it’s demeaning for both of us.”  
She got up, turned her back on him and was almost floored by the wave of dizziness that grabbed her whole body.  
“You…you said some mean things, okay?” she hissed “But…you weren’t yourself, and I’m…I’m okay now. Everything’s fine, really.”  
The silence behind her was like a brick wall, thick, impenetrable. She turned slowly and saw Jane pacing the room again, pushing his hands through his hair.  
“Oh my god.” He whispered, his eyes wide with shock and confusion “Oh my god, we… I…I woke up with this terrible headache and had no idea where I was. The bed was disheveled, I was sticky and smelled like sex…oh my god. Tell me it didn’t happen.”  
“It didn’t happen, Jane.”  
“Oh my god. What have we done?”

xxxxxxxxxx

His tea cup was rattling on the saucer, Jane’s hands were shaking that much.  
He hated it. Hated the amnesia. The murderer who had attempted to kill him. Hated himself for being the most disgusting failure he knew.  
He snorted. Damn, Jane, get a grip. Okay, you had sex with the boss. You’re both adults, you obviously didn’t rape her. So how bad can it be?  
Why was his mouth so dry all the tea in the world wouldn’t be able to get rid of the sensation?  
He just couldn’t believe that he didn’t remember anything. Couldn’t accept it. He’d wrecked his brain for hours, tried every trick in the book to make him remember.  
Her skin. He had kissed her. And he didn’t know her taste. Had it been good for her? No- he shouldn’t think about this.  
He chuckled humorlessly. He knew full well that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.   
She had refused to tell him why she’d cried when she had left in the early morning hours. But there was no need to spell it out: he could read minds, couldn’t he? Yeah. He could read hers. And damn, was she a bad liar.  
He’d never wanted to hurt her. Never. He’d felt safe under her protection. She had looked out for him, stopped him from doing stupid things. They were a team.  
He sighed. Longing tore at his heart, its lure so bittersweet he wanted to cry. Glimpses into a future that would never be.  
He placed the teacup on his desk and lay down on the couch, looking at the Elvis-shaped spot on the ceiling.  
He remembered the soft tune Charlotte had hummed when she’d played with her dolls in the hallway, her blond curls pulled back into a ponytail. He’d hated it when her stuff cluttered the hallways, but he could never deny her anything. She’d been pure and sweet. As beautiful as her mother. As stubborn as himself. And her little body had been warm and soft when she’d snuggled up against him in the evening while he had read her a story. Jack, the willful bunny. Her favorite book.  
He closed his eyes on a sad smile. As usual, he had to force himself not to connect his sweet memories of them to the gruesome images of their corpses. He clenched his hands to stop his mind from wandering to the brutal pictures. To the sight that would continue to destroy him to the day he died.  
Love had fled his life that day. Forever, and the verdict was irrevocable. He had lost the right to love. And he would honor the memory of his beloved ones by staying alone. He couldn’t fall for Lisbon. His angel with the flaming sword.  
So why did his chest hurt as if he had a heart attack? Why could he sleep even less than before the assault that caused the fateful memory loss?  
Why was he constantly wondering, asking- how had her touch felt on his skin? How had her kiss tasted? Which sounds had she made in the throes of her passion? Had he satisfied her? Or had she fled from his room longing and unfulfilled?  
His eyes snapped open.  
He knew she hadn’t been sated. Hadn’t been happy. Had cried because he had broken her heart. Because he couldn’t give back the love that shone in her eyes, sparkled there even now, when he’d obviously managed to royally screw up. Love for him. The most worthless bastard he knew.  
Confusion and heart-ache made him get up. He had to find out what it was he was feeling. Because his exceptional observational skills tended to leave him when he needed them to take a closer look at his own emotions.  
Better not to feel at all, hadn’t his past taught him as much?  
Why had he broken this most important rule of all?  
He moved to the window and looked out over a wintery Sacramento, his shoulders hunched against a cold that didn’t permeate the room. But he felt it everywhere inside him, the frozenness, numbness. The bleakness of a dull winter night.  
He hurt so much. Hurt like he’d never thought he could hurt again, feelings a tumbled mess inside his head, and he wasn’t used to confusion, hated it to be swept under the surf.  
For a moment he indulged thoughts of being an ordinary guy. Taking her out to dinner, and damn, finding out what her taste was like. The smell of her hair. How her soft lips relented under the pressure of his kiss.  
He closed his eyes and swallowed several times.  
Because that was exactly what he couldn’t do: allow agent Lisbon to get under his defenses.  
When he looked up again, he could almost believe that he wasn’t feeling anything. But no matter what- the time had come when Patrick Jane needed to talk.  
He walked CBI’s hallways slowly and entered the lift with a sigh. Who would have thought it would ever come to this?


	4. Chapter 4

Jane eyed the cheap flowers on the windowsill with wary eyes. Obviously the world as mankind knew it was about to end. It had to if Patrick Jane was sitting in the waiting room of a psychiatrist, for god’s sake. Without restraints on arms and legs, that is.  
Yeah, he’d come out of his own free will, which told a lot about his current state of mind.  
He was completely out of it. Certainly not on top of his game. Confusion nipped at him like an ever-present monster- he thought and thought. Hadn’t slept in what seemed like eons because his mind would keep brooding. Straining to access emotions he had always tried to fight. Bury. Contain.  
Feelings made you weak. Feelings could kill you. Feelings could kill those you were stupid enough to love in the first place.  
Sometimes he wished he could simply be a grumpy old recluse. Living in a mountain cabin. Not speaking a word for months. He snorted. Yeah, that sounded like the right environment for Patrick Jane, who’s only major talent was to cheat and deceive and play people. Did he bungle everything that had any meaning for him?  
Dr. Lakers’ assistant answered the phone and looked at him.  
“You can go in now, Mr. Jane” she chirped.  
Jane sighed and doubted his sanity for the umpteenth time. But he got up with a groan and faced what seemed more and more like a seriously bad idea.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Lakers was a distinguished, middle aged black lady with an immaculate hair-do, and she had taken on the counselor’s job after Jane and Lisbon had caught the evil Dr. Carmen at some really, really bad antics.  
Jane had never been to see Dr. Lakers, but being Jane, he knew a lot about her.  
The doctor sat calmly behind her desk, looking at Jane over the rim of her thick glasses.  
“Well, I’m used to surprises, Mr. Jane, but seeing you here is the biggest one I had lately. What leads you here?”  
“Well, I have a problem and need some insight from an outside source. And since my best friend, which would be agent Lisbon, is right in the middle of my problem, I can’t ask her. Since it’s a delicate matter, I certainly won’t ask Rigsby. And because I need more than a one-word-answer, Cho is out, too. And Van Pelt…let’s just say a middle aged guy asking a young woman for advice in matters like these- pathetic, therefore out of the question. The only one left I could think of was you.”  
Dr. Lakers nodded thoughtfully.  
“Which matters are we talking about?”  
“I had sex with agent Lisbon during my memory loss, I don’t remember anything about it, but it’s more than clear that she’s in love with me.”  
Okay- bad Patrick Jane had intended to shock the prim doc a little bit with that one, but if she was shocked, Dr. Lakers didn’t show it- she just nodded thoughtfully.  
“And you are not in love with her?”  
Jane couldn’t understand why he hesitated. Why had he problems getting the word out?  
“No.”  
“Are you sure?”  
Actually, the question hurt. For a moment, Jane saw his life playing like a movie in his mind- before and after. Nothing was left that made his life worth the sweat. He had nothing to show but loneliness and a couple cups of tea in the attic. Love? Sometimes, he couldn’t imagine that the feeling had ever been a part of his existence.  
“I can’t love anymore, Dr. Lakers. “ He said slowly “I have tried. It’s not happening. I’m unable to have feelings like that.”  
“Tell her.” Dr. Lakers shrugged, her eyes unfeeling.  
Jane was dumbfounded for a moment, and that rarely happened.  
“Tell her what?” he asked softly.  
Which earned him another of Dr. Lakers nonchalant shrugs.  
“The truth.” The doctor said “Make beautiful words if you have to. I’m so sorry, I know that you have feelings for me and I’m truly flattered, and you know I like you very much, but unfortunately, blah blah blah. Something like that.”  
Jane fought the outrage that lit up inside him for a moment. Where the hell had that come from?  
“I can’t tell her that.” He stated after he had regained his calm.  
That didn’t stop Dr. Lakers.  
“Why not?”  
“I would hurt her.”  
And as he said it, he knew that Lisbon’s hurt meant something. Meant something so exceedingly out of proportion he couldn’t talk about it. Hell- he couldn’t even look at it. His eyes closed automatically.  
“Why do you care?” Dr. Lakers exclaimed “You’re in need of a classical brush-off here, aren’t you?”  
“I’m not! She’s my friend.”  
“She’s not, Mr. Jane. She obviously couldn’t let her hands off you. Friends don’t do something like that.”  
“I seduced her!”  
“How do you know that?”  
Jane sighed. A desperate, hopeless sigh.  
“She would never do something like that,” he whispered “I’m surprised she let me go that far. But it is out of the question that she initiated the whole thing, she would have felt as if she’d been taking advantage of my…mental state. You don’t know her- she’s…so…good. Almost saint-like. The biggest altruist I know. I’m absolutely positive that I did the seducing.”  
Dr. Lakers looked at him, her eyes narrowed. Analyzing. Yeah, that was why he hated psychiatrists so much- he hated to have somebody in his head.  
“Yeah, maybe, so what.” The doctor said after a while, the infamous shrug coming back. “That’s not the who’s-guilty-game here. And by the way- she had all the fun, huh? You can’t even remember!”  
“What if she didn’t have fun at all? I made her cry. I’ve obviously been an asshole.”  
That tormented him most. That he had sex with her after all those years…and he had made her cry. Had managed to say or do something that had driven her away. She had let him touch her- and all she got was a horrible experience. Jane felt cold and miserable, nausea gripping his guts. Lisbon had been in his arms- and he had disappointed her so much that she had fled. He wrapped his arms around himself.  
Dr. Lakers watched him some more, quietly, her eyes soft before she finally steeled herself.  
“A memory-free asshole.” She pointed out “She will understand, won’t she? You didn’t even really know her at the time. Didn’t know your history with each other. Didn’t know that it might be a little bit awkward afterwards if you get into close combat with her…so hey- nobody’s hurt.”  
“She IS hurt, damn you!” Jane cried out “Do you have any idea how it feels to learn that the woman you…” He stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. Damn, that had never happened either ”…the…the woman you… are… so close to…has been…intimate with you and didn’t…” He took a deep breath. When he actually started to cry now, he would steal agent Lisbon’s gun and kill himself in the parking lot. Tonight. “…didn’t enjoy it at all? And still wants you? ”  
Damn, she still wanted him. She would possibly take him just like that- the most embarrassing, undeserving, hopeless bastard she could find…he almost whimpered.  
“So she’ll be unhappy, okay.” Dr. Lakers said coolly “Ask yourself: what’s more important- her happiness or that you can finally get rid of her?”  
“Get rid of her?”  
“You know what I mean, Mr. Jane.” Dr. Lakers leaned back in her chair “Brush her off and you can forget the whole mess. You will never know how it feels to touch her. Never know her taste. Never have her hold you when you’re really, really lonely. Never hear the sounds she makes when she’s really into it. She possibly looked at you with those adoring little-girl-eyes while she lay in your arms- damn, who needs that, huh? Good thing you don’t remember it, so it’s as if it has never happened. And you will never know what it’s been like.”  
Okaaaaay… his mouth was dry now. And he definitely felt as if he was about to cry. He averted his gaze, the pain suddenly- really, really bad.  
“How do you feel now, Mr. Jane?” Dr. Lakers asked, her voice gentle now, as if she were speaking to a child.  
“Like an idiot.”  
“I thought so.”  
“I have to talk to her.”  
“Yes, you have to do that. Fast. And, Mr. Jane- whatever you decide: she is not just a friend. And you are not incapable of love.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Okay. So agent Lisbon tried to get a grip. Immediately.  
She watched the silent city, stretching out in front of her living-room-window.  
She had to get back. Back to the “Jane-I-love-you-but-I-know-you’re-not-for-me-and-that’s-kind-of-okay”-feeling.  
Never in all those years had she actually thought about being in a relationship with Patrick Jane. She had protected him at all costs. Had enjoyed every second she could spend with him. Had been secretly giddy like a little girl when he paid her a compliment. Had sucked up the jealousy like a pro when he engaged in heavy flirting with all kinds of women (what he often did, the cheeky little devil).  
But she had never thought about shopping groceries on Saturday with him. About talking birth control and household chores. About what their children would look like (dark-haired, that was for sure- the Lisbon genes always won.) See? Now she could think about little else, and she knew full well how pathetic and childish that was.  
It would never be that way. He couldn’t be like that.  
But what truly scared her was that she didn’t care. That it wasn’t important any longer. That she didn’t want anything he couldn’t be. She would do whatever it took to make it work. No matter how much distance he needed. If he could make love only when he restrained her- she would let him handcuff her. When he pulled back for weeks- she could take it. If he yelled at her in the middle of the night- she would still be there, still love him.  
What had he said to her? “I usually recognize a good lay when I see one”? And she was still here. Loving him to pieces. Entertaining thoughts that had no business wandering through her mind.  
She sighed and slid her fingers over the dusty window-sill. Still obsessed with stroking inanimate objects. She was utterly touchy-feely these days.  
Stupid- when the only thing she really wanted to touch was out of her reach. Forever.

xxxxxxxxxx

He clutched the steering wheel until it creaked under his grip.  
He couldn’t do this. He felt weak and vulnerable, his mind a shapeless, tortured mess.  
What did he feel, for god’s sake? What did he feel? It couldn’t be that hard to figure it out. He was Patrick Jane. He knew everything. His mind was a steel trap. A computer. Why did he behave like a helpless boy whenever his emotions raised their ugly heads?  
Damn amnesia. If he hadn’t lost his memory the unspeakable wouldn’t have happened. And he could’ve continued to live his life in blissful ignorance.  
Ignorance. That was what he’d vegetated in, wasn’t it? He’d been blind. He had refused to look into the face of danger- until it’s been too late. Until it had tackled him in a weak moment. An utterly weak moment.   
Had he chosen agent Lisbon? Had his sub-conscious somehow pulled him right to her? That was complete bullshit, wasn’t it?  
Didn’t matter. For whatever Patrick Jane, brilliant mastermind but embarrassingly stupid when it came to feelings, tried to tell himself: his heart wasn’t empty.  
It was so full it seemed about to burst.

xxxxxxxxxx

She looked tiny, and every protective cell in his body went into overdrive.   
Angela had been…tall and light-hearted and friendly to every living being…he still remembered her voice, heard it in his dreams…  
“Lisbon” he whispered, his voice small and trembling “we have to talk.”  
She nodded and moved aside, allowing him to step over the threshold. But Jane simply stood in the open doorway. Couldn’t even bring himself to close the door behind him. The cold December air wafted into Lisbon’s cozy home. He saw the goose bumps rising on her bare arms. But he couldn’t close the freaking door.  
“I know you suffer, Lisbon” he started slowly.  
Angela in their kitchen, preparing dinner. Angela listening to her stupid country-music. Her being filling his heart. Her toenails painted in blood. Bright red. His life full of red. Drowning in blood and gore.  
“I don’t want you to suffer.” He whispered.  
His daughter singing, her voice getting louder, louder. Her body so small. His to protect. A bloody face on the wall. Her beloved little face. Hardly recognizable in death.  
“I can’t, Lisbon,” he cried out “I can’t. I’m worse than dead. I know you love me. But I’m nothing more than a shell. And I…I can give nothing back. I’m full of emptiness. Blackness. You don’t want to look into my soul.”  
“I want you Jane,” she whispered “you. As you are. I don’t want a knight in shining armor. I want you. And I won’t stop wanting you.”  
He looked down. Light brown carpet. Blood seeping into the fabric. Lisbon’s small body painted with red spatters. Her glassy eyes unseeing. Bare of the love he could read in them when he met her gaze now.  
Angela and Charlotte. The lights of his life. He wanted to lie down on their graves and cry. Until he lost consciousness. Until death claimed him.  
She watched him steel himself, his eyes growing cold and distant. And she knew her cause was lost.  
Okay. More heartache. She was hardly a stranger to that. So why seemed this like the end of the world?  
“I regret it,” he said slowly, and his words hurt as if he’d slapped her “it never should have happened. It was wrong. I would rather die than let it happen again.”  
And she saw the truth in his eyes. You should have stopped me, his intense stare told her, you’ve been the clear-headed one- you used me, took advantage of my confusion. It’s your damn fault we are in this mess.  
And Lisbon’s world dissolved into a messy cloud of pain and guilt.


	5. Chapter 5

For a second, Lisbon felt everything inside her crumble. The world blurred at the edges, the dim lights of her hallway fading. But Teresa Lisbon wouldn’t break. No matter what fate dished out- she could take it. She’d been through worse. She could live without a heart if she had to.  
She straightened her spine and looked him straight in the eyes.  
How beautiful he was. How much she loved him.  
Didn’t matter any longer. She could pick up the pieces of her soul in a minute.  
“You’re right,” she said calmly “I should have prevented it. You weren’t yourself. It would have been my job to stop you. I apologize, Jane. I’m sorry for piling up more debris in your life. You certainly didn’t need that.”  
Her tongue tasted like lead. She wasn’t sure how long her legs would keep her upright. So she started walking backwards to the stairs.  
“I’ll go to bed now,” she whispered, swallowing the little tremble that would claim her whole body in a second, but she held her chin high “goodnight, Jane. Please close the door behind you when you leave.”  
He watched her turn around. Watched her walk up the stairs, away from him. One step, another. She moved so gracefully, so fluently, when her despair radiated from her in sickening waves. And something inside Jane just snapped.   
He slammed the door shut before he raced up towards her and tackled her from behind, crushing her body against the stairs. His fingers tightened on her narrow ribcage, bones far too palpable beneath her skin- she obviously hadn’t eaten for a while.  
He pulled her up on all fours and simply ripped her clothes off, his inner torment lending him frightening strength, fabric tearing beneath his relentless hands, shirt, pants, underwear. Lisbon kneeling naked in a pile of torn garments, unable to stop him. Getting wet for him, arousal running through her body like an electric current.  
Jane kicked her knees apart with his own and slid his fingers through her wetness while he opened his fly with his free hand.   
He was hard, so unbelievably hard, his cock felt almost alien to his own touch. He freed it from the confinement of his pants, gliding his hand up and down its length for a moment, feeling the pulsating vein, urging him to take her, re-claim her. Sweat broke out on his face, his back, his skin feeling as tight as a junkie’s. He watched her resting her head on her arms, elevated by the stairs. She braced herself.  
“Dammit, Lisbon” he whispered “I can’t stop. I’ll never be able to stop. “  
And he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt. One single thrust, so deep she could almost taste him.  
God, he was huge. So huge she almost couldn’t take him for a moment, her hips bucking against his, her walls burning around his hard flesh.  
But yes- she welcomed the slight pain, almost wanted to tear. Tear like her clothes had. She pushed back against him, until his hips pushed against her thighs.  
He groaned, his sweat dripping on her skin, and started to thrust. So hard Lisbon saw stars. Jane leant forward, his chest against her back, marking her neck with his teeth. She felt the smooth fabric of his vest, the buttons rubbing against her skin. His breathing was harsh, panting. The hot whiffs of air searing her skin.  
His cock pumped inside her sensitive sheath, its width fraying tender nerves until her whole body felt aflame, his hips slamming against her buttocks, his hands clenching on her waist. She could feel the bruises forming beneath her skin, and couldn’t care less.  
“Harder, Patrick” she pressed out between gritted teeth “don’t hold back, please- let go for me. Let go now.”  
He groaned and picked up speed, pounding into her full force, the sensations so strong he almost passed out. He’d been harboring this insane desire for years now, he couldn’t go on. He’d opened Pandora’s box and had to bear the consequences. Allow another man to touch what was his, to bring Lisbon the satisfaction he denied her? Never.  
He felt his cock harden even more and rammed it into her, holding her close while he used all his strength to take her, slamming in and out so hard he all but pounded her into the stairs.  
Lisbon pushed back against him, urging him on, angling her hips so she could take more of him, could feel the impact of his movements in every cell. She felt the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach, tighter, tighter, her hands groping to find something to hold on, fingers clutching the edge of the step in front of her, breathing, panting, Jane straightening behind her, his hands merciless, relentless on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. Her lower body burning, blazing, his cock so hard, huge, full, yes, she needed it, needed him to spend, hard thrusts, again, again, her breasts rubbing against the stairs every time he slammed into her, and suddenly the tension deep inside her snapped, every nerve ending exploding into a ball of flames.   
Lisbon screamed, screamed until her throat was sore, her walls clenching on his burning rod until the contractions felt sweetly painful, and he was still thrusting, thrusting into her climaxing body, prolonging the sensation until she felt on the brink of sanity.  
Jane gasped hoarsely, lengthening and widening inside her, his balls drawing tight against his body, and Lisbon could feel the exact moment he started to shoot his load. Strong, hot jets of semen erupted into her clutching sheath, he couldn’t stop to come, more and more seed spurting inside her, and still his hips moved, making the milky liquid seep out of her, running down her legs, covering her skin. The sheer sensation of it triggered another orgasm, he felt the convulsion of her strong muscles around him and cried out in ecstasy. He spent until he felt completely drained, spent until his essence pooled around her knees, adding more when he pulled out of her, the friction of her tight walls so intense that he released the last squirt of seed against her thighs with a shudder. Damn, he’d made a mess.  
His clothes were sticking to his skin, drenched in sweat and seed and tears, and his lips trembled so hard he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak for a while.  
Lisbon turned until she came to rest into a half-sitting position. Her ponytail was a tousled and mussed, her hair a soft dark cloud around her head, her face was wet- she had cried, too. She had bitten down on her lip until she’d drawn blood, he could see the red smear against her chin.   
He needed to devour those lips, but he couldn’t move. Every breath burned in his lungs.  
Lisbon reached down to her thighs, her eyes glassy, her expression reverent. Oblivious. She spread his seed over her skin, sliding her fingers through the balmy liquid. She played with his juices for a while before she looked at him.  
His light green eyes were huge in his pale face, a touch of panic in their depths. His glorious blond curls disheveled and wild. His lips trembling, rosy sweet. She needed his lips swollen from her kisses. But even more she needed him to come again.  
“More” she whispered and saw him swallow.  
He hardened immediately.  
“Bedroom.” He croaked and she stood on wobbly legs, moving to lead the way, leaving her torn clothes on the stairs.  
Jane followed her, undressing on the way, heedlessly tossing his clothes on the floor.  
He was naked when he reached her bedroom, Lisbon already spread out on the bed, ready for his taking, and he sank down on her small frame, covering her, his hips pushing between her legs, his own seed wetting his skin. He threw his head back and whispered her name in awe.  
“Teresa.” Mine.  
He pressed his lips on hers, his erection nudging against her wet flesh, so hard again it ached for her.  
His tongue slipped into her mouth, the kiss fevered, urgent, desperate.  
“I’m evil, Lisbon,” he whispered against her lips, his tears dripping onto her face “I got my family killed- I got them killed. I will taint you. Nothing good can come out of this love. I’m not allowed to love again. So why do I dare to feel this way? Why can’t I stop?”  
She kissed him more, knowing words would never be enough to extinct his feelings of guilt and shame.  
“I could get you pregnant with this seed you want so much, Teresa” he breathed, his voice so small, torn, lost “I could bring disaster to your life. I could render you prey for a serial killer I can’t find, can’t stop. A killer who’s watching my every move. So why can’t I stop?”  
“I love you, Patrick Jane” she sighed into his kiss, and he whimpered as if in pain “you’re not alone. And if you would just turn your back on me, I’d turn into emptiness…already dead inside. I love you.”  
“Don’t say that,” he sobbed “don’t, please.”  
“It’s the truth. You know it.”  
She pushed her hips against his softening cock and it sprang back to life, growing hard and erect just for her, getting even harder when she touched it with her small, soft fingers.  
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.  
“I won’t” he answered between kisses “I can’t.”  
And he pushed inside her, stretching her to the point of pain, filling her, not stopping until he was so deep she felt owned, possessed. His for all times.  
She stroked his back and found his skin so sensitive he gasped, his cock jerking inside her.  
He buried his face against her neck, his breath hot and moist, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. Lisbon felt like a single, giant vibration, the hum of arousal drowning the world all around her, reducing her senses to the feel of his body, skin, lips.  
Jane moved slower this time, taking her in long, deep strokes, flesh against flesh, the friction enormous, delicious, mind-blowing. She felt the controlled power in the tension of his backside and barely resisted the urge to dig her fingers into him, anchoring him to her, stopping him from changing his mind.  
But he was silent and continued to thrust slow and deep, their combined harsh breathing the only sound she heard.   
His hands framed her face, his lips descending on hers, and he breathed into her, his movements getting faster. He finally pushed up on his arms, and her bed started to creak under the force of his thrusts.  
Her whole body trembled with relief. That was exactly how she needed him. She met his hard strokes one by one, their hips clashing, and she needed more, more hardness, more friction, more pain, more him…  
The bed’s headrest thudded against the wall every time he made impact, and she just thought: yes, break it, destroy it, just DON’T STOP!  
He didn’t stop, his sweat dripping onto her face, and he was so huge and hot deep inside her that her heart almost stopped for a moment, and she came from unbearable, painful ecstasy to the complete implosion of her insides in mere seconds. Her orgasm hit her so hard she almost passed out with the sheer force of it, and she heard him scream, come, spilling his seed into her like a volcano’s eruption. She lifted her hips, desperate to deepen the connection even if that seemed impossible. She didn’t care for impossible, she could move mountains tonight. Jane clutched her to him, still trembling from the aftershocks.  
“I love you” he breathed “One day, I will burn in hell. But I love you.”  
She shuddered deeply, softly biting into his earlobe to relieve some of the tension. She’d never felt something like this before, it took her breath away. But for once, she didn’t feel small when a situation went out of control. She felt stronger.  
He kissed her throat, putting his face against her shoulder before he rolled to his side, relieving her of his weight. She felt it like a loss.  
But she could sense his utter exhaustion, he was spent, drained, his breathing still labored and erratic.  
“Please,” Jane gasped “I’m not a cold-hearted idiot, I…I just didn’t sleep much in the last few days, so I’m bone-tired- forgive me if I just fall asleep, Teresa, yes? And no matter what you do- don’t let me wake up and find you gone, please.”  
“This is my apartment, Jane,” Lisbon chuckled softly, but he was already fast asleep, his head deliciously heavy on her shoulder.

xxxxxxxxxx

They drank their morning beverages (tea for him, coffee for her) at Riverside Park, sitting on a bench, watching some stray joggers run through the frozen scenery.  
Jane wore his overcoat. Black, sexy overcoat.  
He noticed with a smile that she was constantly fumbling with his lapels or his collar. Unobtrusively touching him. If they had stayed at her house, they would still be in bed, doing unspeakable things to each other. The urge to touch was like an addiction, the fear to lose what had been hard-won driving them insane. Both had known that they had to get out of there fast if they wanted to accomplish anything mildly resembling work today. If they wanted to get back to anything feeling like everyday life.  
Jane lifted his hand and pushed some strands of dark hair behind her ear. He felt so much tenderness. So much it almost blanked out the guilt for a while.  
He would always feel that guilt. But there wasn’t a law that said he couldn’t feel something else, too.  
“Let’s catch some killers.” He said softly.  
He didn’t want to get back to work. He would have loved to stay right here infinitely, her little fingers straightening his clothes, blissful silence engulfing them in a cloak of oblivion. But they needed a little normalcy after the torrent of the past days.  
His memory was back. They were both here. Together. And that wouldn’t change. They’d pushed through. Barely, but they had. They would work things out, solve problems when they came up. For once, he was content not too think too hard. The closeness felt surprisingly good.  
And he still could read her thoughts in her beautiful green eyes. Could see that she truly didn’t expect him to be her knight in shining armor. Her sweet acceptance of what he was made him so warm inside he had to fight the urge to curl into her arms, a happy little animal warmed by her embrace.  
“You need a scarf,” she whispered, her fingers brushing over his open collar.  
He snorted.  
“I’ll wear one if you knit it yourself.”  
“I’m talent-free when it comes to needlework, Jane.” She replied, her smile sweet and warm, making a giddy sense of perfection bloom in the pit of his stomach. Butterflies flapping their tiny wings.  
“I know,” he said “that’s what I was counting on.”  
He was silent for a moment, watching the ice blue river running in front of them.  
“Tell me you’ll spend Christmas alone.” He said eventually.  
“I’ll spend Christmas alone, Jane.” She answered dutifully.  
“That’s good,” he smiled, “what if we travel north? I’m in the mood for insane amounts of snow. In fact, I would like to get snowed in. You game?”  
He wanted to forget the world for a while. Get used to this strange thing between them without any distraction.  
“Absolutely.” She smiled.   
He dumped his empty paper cup in the waste bin and kissed her lips, his cold hands brushing her cheeks.  
“About those killers?” she whispered “Let’s catch them.”  
“Let’s indeed.” He said with a sigh and got up. She followed suit.  
They walked through the empty park to their cars, and when he finally, carefully took her hand in his, it felt almost…natural.  
They’d come a long way.


End file.
